


Is Death Her Gift?

by Bruteaous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruteaous/pseuds/Bruteaous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Faith had been sent to collect Dana in “Damages” instead of Andrew? Buffy/Faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1: The Human Slayer

The call from Wesley had finished up a couple of minutes ago. Faith was in her den in the warehouse building she and Giles had remodeled as the home of their rogue slayer sanctuary in Chicago. Nimbly, she pounded away on a large punching bag, her forehead and neck glistening with sweat. She’d known it was Wesley on the phone—or rather guessed—because she’d noticed that Giles grew quiet, almost disturbed and as Faith remembered it from her time in Sunnydale, Wes was one of the few people able to uppercut the older watcher with equal portions of annoyance and dread enough to stun him into brooding silence.

 

 

When the hushed conversation had ended, Giles had taken his time coming to tell her the news. He cleared his throat in the spacious meeting area where they tended to host Scooby meetings when the old gang members popped in for a visit and stopped to clean his glasses twice before slowly moving to lean against the doorway to the den.  Faith felt him watching her before she looked up and saw him there. Slayer senses came in handy, always. Giving the bag a few more level punches for good measure, she pulled back and looked over at him, figuring what the stitch was automatically.

 

 

“New girl in L.A.? She asked, grabbing her towel from a nearby coat rack and running it over her damp shoulders.

 

 

“New girl in L.A.” Giles confirmed, “but not of the usual variety, I’m afraid.”

 

 Faith popped the top off of the water bottle on her desk and took a few swallows before leaning back against the polished wood.

 

 “What’s different about this one?”

 

 Giles didn’t know how to say it. I mean, there was no polite or politically correct way to put it. The gruesome simple truth that he hoped he was managing to get across was that a girl named  Dana—who had spent months being raped, stabbed at, and God only knew what else by a serial killer—had been called to become a slayer and that girl was now not only severely mentally unstable, but she had just broken out of hospital and murdered two men while also taking the time to mutilate one of the bodies post-mortem. Going after her would be anything but a routine mission and Giles didn’t feel right asking Faith to do such a thing, but there was no one else who was able to do what she did.

 

 

Faith listened to the details of the mission as Giles stumbled over them, respecting her enough not to gloss over the very real possibility that this girl wouldn’t be one she would be able to save. That it was possible that she was just too far gone already to be able to be reached. The truth was doing a number on Giles though. Never before had Faith seen her mentor look so old and run down. In the dim light of the overhead lamps, the wrinkles around his eyes and the creases on his forehead stood out as if they had only recently been stamped there. She knew he couldn’t be comfortable with asking her to do what she knew she had to, but Faith was also having a hard time swallowing it.

 

 Never before had she gone into a mission already knowing that it was almost certainly a lost cause, but here Giles was—basically telling her there was no hope and acting like he was already consoling her for the loss. That alone was enough to scare Faith out of her usual bravado and into the comfortable arms of her defensive tendencies.

 

 “Hold up, G. I didn’t sign on for this bullshit. This Dana girl isn’t like the two-bit hard luck brats you usually send me after. From what you’re saying, she didn’t choose to go evil or become a monster. She was made one by years and years of torture which makes her an innocent. I can’t do it, G. I can’t take her down and what if I gotta? Most missions I’m good for, but not this one.”

 

 Giles pushed away from the doorjamb and paced in front of the open French doors to the den, grumbling, roiling more with his own fear and distaste for this assignment than any sort of ill feelings directed at Faith, but damn it a rogue slayer—especially one this dangerous couldn’t be allowed to live. Faith couldn’t wimp out on him now, not when he needed her.

 

 “I do feel for what you are going through, Faith, I sincerely do,” Giles began. “However, now is not the time to be backing away from your calling. May I remind you, Faith, that this is your job! You are the one who saves the dangerous ones who don’t have anyone else to turn to and if they cannot be reached, you subdue them because there is no one else who can do it.”

 

 Faith remained quiet, regarding him through hard, dark eyes. Giles couldn’t tell if she was going to deck him or start throwing things, but either way this conversation had to be had. The recent Slayer Organization was still new. The Watcher’s Council was in the throes of being rebuilt but none of what they were trying to accomplish was stable yet and something so seemingly insignificant as one girl gone wrong with sharp pointy objects could unravel the entire tapestry before Giles and Buffy and the Scoobies even had a chance to finish it off. Faith had to understand that the work she did was essential. Too many nights, he had allowed her to drink herself into oblivion and drown in her own self-loathing. Too many nights he had allowed the amount of stress her job put on her shoulders to weigh her down, but not now. Now she had to suck it up for the greater good because she was needed.

 

 “Are you paying attention?” Giles asked, stopping to stand in front of her and trying not to be put off by Faith’s obvious bad mood at the topic. “You bloody well better be. No one else in our little hodgepodge of hellmouth survivors has your propensity for darkness—your own personal expertise. Your insight. You know what it’s like to have touched that evil within yourself, to have given into the power, and have to come back from it stronger than you were before. That is why these girls need you, Faith. That is why I chose you. The fact that not all of them can be saved is a hard, but unfortunate fact of life and we must accept it.”

 

 “You got cotton in your ears, old man?” Faith rolled her eyes at him, trying for all she was worth to rein in her temper. “I don’t have a problem with the job, that’s not what I’m on about. It’s a stitch I can handle most of the time. I know I am doing for the good. I’ve only had to put down two girls out of fifteen so far and that to me is something to be proud of, but this job—this mission—isn’t the same. This girl, she’s not playing with a full deck and she might not even be able to. She’s been yanked so many ways, she doesn’t know which way is up anymore and the only way this kid can find any peace is to hack away at orderlies and male nurses with bone saws and to top it all off, now she has super powers? This is some kind of wicked fucked up, G. You know the job I do, it isn’t exactly something that gives me the warm fuzzies. Most nights, I can’t get the faces of the girls I put down out of my head and every morning, I gotta remind myself of all the ones I saved from the gutter otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. It’s the only thing keeping me sane, but if I do this—I’m not sure even that will be enough to keep me from losing it. This isn’t right. This girl—she doesn’t deserve to die, G. She doesn’t. I can feel it. She’s just one fucked up kid. ”

 

 

Giles removed his glasses from his nose and wiped his face with one broad palm.

 

 “I know,” he sighed, defeated, really looking like he’d aged ten years in the last six months since the latest apocalypse had been averted. “I know and I wish I could tell you that you wouldn’t have to kill her, but we can’t let her continue on as she is. She can’t keep killing, Faith. Those people—they’re innocents too.”

 

 Faith took a deep breath and released it quickly as both of her fists slammed down into the desk beneath her, her knuckles going through the solid cherry wood. She really, really didn’t want to have to do this, but what else could she do? Finally, Faith conceded and stood up heavily as if her body suddenly weighed a hundred more pounds.

 

 “When’s the next flight to L.A.?” she asked, yanking off her hand wraps and tossing them into a dark corner of the room.

 

 Giles sighed gratefully. He hadn’t realized how truly worried he’d been that he wouldn’t be able to get Faith to go along with the mission until relief settled into the pit of his stomach and his entire body relaxed.

 

 “Wesley’s booked you a seat on the first one out. It leaves in three hours,” Giles said, turning to leave. “And Faith? You’re doing the right thing.”

 

 Faith waited until she heard Giles’ footsteps fade away into another part of the building before a loud, primal scream erupted from her lungs and she kicked the punching bag for all it was worth. The chains holding the abused thing busted under the strain, sending the large bag barreling dangerously through the paneling of the side wall. Faith sank to her knees, feeling herself retreat from the world in a way she never had before. She really, really didn’t want to do this. Having to put down other girls like her—girls that reminded her so much of the fuck up she used to be that it wasn’t funny—was killing her inside. Angel told her redemption wouldn’t be easy. He’d told her that it would be forever, but he didn’t say that it would hurt this much and be so confusing.

 

 

 

What was it really aside from the word itself that separated what she did from murder? Killing was killing. Taking a human life was taking a human life no matter which way you turned it.  She was trying to do good, she really was and when she looked at the faces of the girls she’d saved from horrible lives, Faith knew she had. But it came with a price, for every girl she saved, there was one somewhere out there that she couldn’t. As pessimistic as life had made her, Faith always went into every mission with the hope that she could rescue the slayer she was after from evil and that hope remained with her even mere seconds up to the dealing of the killing blow. She never gave up on any of them and it felt wrong to be going into this, already being expected to fail.

 

 Story of my life, Faith thought, standing again and cracking her neck to distract her from the stinging behind her eyes.

 

 Almost everyone she’d ever known had given up on her; had expected her to turn out a fucking mess just like she had. Everyone but Giles, the Scoobs, Angel, and Buffy. Even when she was evil, they’d seen a different side to her. Shit, it still surprised her that Buffy had been able to see the good in her. Even when they were fighting, even when they’d switched bodies, and back again, she’d seen the look in Buffy’s blue eyes—beyond the hurt, beyond the betrayal, there had lingered the belief that Faith really was good somewhere deep down inside. Faith would never admit to it, but she was more than grateful for that notion while it lasted, until hatred finally replaced it.

 

 Whatever. That was ancient history.

 

 Faith stretched briefly then moved over to the opposite wall where a small leather duffle bag sat sandwiched between two bookcases. She always travelled light. It came in handy if a mission suddenly went awry or the cops were alerted to the commotion of destruction and chaos that was two slayers fighting. She had a couple of pairs of clothes already packed to leave at the drop of a hat if she needed to—like now—along with a few low profile weapons that were stowed in foam and carted with the protection of special collector’s licenses so she didn’t get arrested going through security at the airport. Faith lifted the worn brown bag, comforted slightly by the sturdy creak of the leather and the familiar weight of the things inside.

 

 On her way out into the main room of their loft, she stopped in front of the wall of windows admiring the city skyline against the backdrop of an orange sunset. The Loop was lit up in the fading light as the shadows of the buildings settled over the dark waters of the Chicago River. Faith took a few minutes to enjoy the scenery, knowing in a few hours she’d be halfway across the country enroute to a murder.  



	2. 2: What’s Your Childhood Trauma?

The plane landed on time—for once—and Faith disembarked at Los Angeles International with very little hassle. The man operating the baggage claim gave her a withering look when she hefted her bag up onto her shoulder with one arm and Faith gave him a charming wink so his composure faltered and he looked away. She loved getting a reaction out of people. They never saw her coming and most of them didn’t have experience enough in the personal arena to know what to do when they were approached by someone whose entire demeanor screamed sex, power, and heat. Her ability to turn heads in a room made inconspicuously getting away from someplace a chore sometimes, but for the most part, Faith was happy with how she came off to people.

She walked out of the buzzing front entrance towards the street. Not bothering to hail a cab yet, Faith pulled her cell phone out of her belt and flipped it open, hitting a number on speed dial and waiting as it rang on the other line. The British voice that picked up wasn’t exactly whom she had hoped would answer, but he would have to do.

“Hiya, Wes. I just landed…so what’s the skinny on this Dana chick?”

Around thirty minutes later, Faith was racing through festering back alleys so far removed from downtown Los Angeles that it almost felt like a different world. She’d taken a cab to the last known location Wes had for the girl. It turned out to be an all stops minimart with bulletproof glass surrounding the cashier counter and a very dead security guard spread out in the middle of one of the aisles fenced off by yellow police tape. From there, Faith had managed to track the girl to what looked to be a derelict factory building and slowed in her search. Halfway in her leap over the chain link fence surrounding the place, the little hairs on the back of Faith’s neck rose and adrenaline began pumping through her body like ice. Her limbs and muscles woke up, the slayer in her alert and pacing back and forth inside of her, agitated at the prospect of prey nearby.

Always one to follow her instincts, Faith ran up to the building, taking note of one broken window on the ground floor. It was the only one without bars, the reason becoming clear as she noticed the remains of the iron fortifications scattered on the pavement, bent and broken.

“Good to know she’s keeping in shape”, Faith quipped to herself, as she climbed through the open space and disappeared into the darkness below.

She rolled to her feet on the concrete floor as the predator crouched inside her. Something was nearby. Not on this floor, but close enough to be dangerous. Unlike Buffy, Faith had always felt at home with the wildness inside of her. The slayer part of her, the demon that propelled her, seemed to mesh seamlessly with her human side. When Faith was younger, she hadn’t cared to be able to tell the difference between the two. Her humanity had felt like a weakness to her, seemed to be holding back the animal in her that wanted to fight and kill and fuck all at once all day and all night without a care as to what happened to anyone else. But in prison, Faith had finally taken time to learn the difference. The predator inside was a crucial part of what she was, but it wasn’t who she was and it wasn’t where her true strength lay. It was her humanity that made her strong—her ability to decide to protect others who couldn’t protect themselves.

Still after so many years, every time the slayer inside reared its ugly head—Faith felt the temptation to give in and let it rule her as the familiar power coursed through every fiber of her being. To just stop caring about everyone and what they thought and what they deserved and what was fair would be too easy though. Because she understood what it meant to lose control, Faith could usually talk the rogues she hunted down out of their destructive ways. But this Dana girl wasn’t like any rogue she’d gone after before. They hadn’t even met face to face yet and already Faith could feel the difference. Most rogues were like she had been—wild, untamed, uncaring, unfeeling, but Dana wasn’t wild so much as feral.

The trauma dealt to her as a child must have been so great that it completely stamped out her human will and personality and when the slayer took over that was all the girl had left to protect herself alongside a range of painful memories. If Faith had been less experienced, she might’ve mistaken Dana for an otherworldly demon or a Were just by the pure animalism radiating off of the girl in aggressive waves. However, Faith could feel that she was human if only just so and that knowledge alone was enough for her to take a deep steadying breath and try to calm the predator within her enough to move ahead.

Faith took a few steps into another hall and stopped, taking note of her surroundings. Satisfied that she would be able to recognize the corridor and get back to it even in the dimness of the building, she quietly set her bag down beside the wall, retrieving a tight utility vest sheathing around fifteen or so small leaf shaped throwing knives from the naked eye and a Bowie knife that she quickly stuffed into one boot before rising and moving forward again. The air in the place smelled stale and dusty and dank. Faith didn’t know how many floors the building had, but she figured that Dana was on the one below her. Just something about how the tingles up and down her spine centered closer to the ground than the ceiling spoke volumes. All she had to do was find her way down into the basement. 

Finally, she passed a doorway with the door hanging off of the hinges that seemed to be spewing cold air from somewhere. When Faith descended onto the first step she knew she was going the right direction because her instincts went haywire. The sensations were a jumbled mess of feelings and emotions that writhed uncomfortably in her stomach like worms. Fear of the unknown jostled with the thrill of the hunt. Regret and guilt at what she knew she might have to do conflicted with pride in her tracking abilities and the anticipation of a good fight. On the edge of everything, she felt Dana. The slayer inside of Faith recognized another one of its own kind and curiosity warred with animosity in her gut. The aggression coming off of the girl somewhere below her was nearly overwhelming and Faith knew that Dana knew she was there, waiting her out and perhaps even also wanting to meet this familiar stranger with whom she shared so much in common.

A dim light radiated from somewhere at the base of the steps, letting Faith know for sure that the basement at least was inhabited. She knelt onto the second step and waited there for a few moments. Part of her was curious to know how strong the slayer in Dana really was. I mean, if it was basically all Faith could feel, she was pretty sure that Dana’s predator was floating very close to the surface, but she still felt the need to know. So Faith waited, wanting to see if this new baby slayer had patience enough to wait her out or if she would take the bait and attack uphill—putting Dana herself at a disadvantage. But the savageness inside of this girl wasn’t blind, it was clever and it knew what was going on.

So much for the element of surprise, Faith thought.

Grimacing, she pulled a knife free from her vest and slowly crept down the remaining stairs. The single light in the room grew brighter as the swinging light bulb at the back of the room on a chain merged into Faith’s line of sight. Dana wasn’t immediately visible from the stairs, but she wasn’t hiding either. The girl she’d been hunting stood close to the farthest wall, diagonal to the stairway. Faith hadn’t been expecting to find much when they met, but what she saw unleashed the ice in her veins. Dana was average sized for a fifteen year old, skin and bone, olive complected, with dark hair and an anesthetized gaze. Her clothes were ill fitting and covered in dirt and blood, some of it her own from an angry gash on one cheek, but the rest of it had been finger painted on her face and shirt like a preschooler’s drawings.

Faith could feel a myriad of sensations bleeding out into the air from Dana to her. Her cinnamon eyes connected with Dana’s almost black ones and Faith could suddenly feel each emotion running through the other girl as if they were her own. The full range of feelings were there, just out of balance: anger topped the scales along with a dark euphoria that Faith guessed was the slayer inside of Dana relishing in the blood and violence she caused. Fear wasn’t there at all and simultaneously there was something else missing in the girl’s bleak eyes. Something vital to redemption and salvation: human compassion. Though Faith couldn’t see it, she wasn’t entirely ready to believe that the ability to care was something Dana was incapable of, just not something she had a lot of practice at? Damn, this was all kinds of messed up.

Dana stared at her opponent intensely—sizing her up—as if she wanted to devour her and destroy her at the same time.

“I am strong, not weak anymore,” Dana said, beginning to circle Faith slowly, her movements mirroring the elder slayer. “And you are strong too. Strong like me.”

“Yes, strong like you.” Faith regarded the baby slayer quietly, moving so that they were facing one another at all times. “Look, I’m here to help you. I was sent to help you so you can learn how to live with the powers you were given. So you can live a better life than this—”

Faith’s speech was interrupted as Dana shrank instantly back towards the wall, shaking and yelling wildly in another language. As the tirade boiled down, she looked at Faith with a burning stare that seemed to penetrate through all of her defenses. Finally, the baby slayer spoke, channeling a hatred Faith had hoped was long dead.

“I gave you every chance!” Dana’s hollow voice shouted, louder and lighter than it should have been. “I tried so hard to help you and you spat on me. My life was just something for you to play with. Angel, Riley, anything that you could take from me you took. I’ve lost battles before but nobody else has ever made me a victim.”

B? Faith stopped cold, her eyes wide, her mouth open just enough in surprise to maybe catch a mosquito if there were any around. What had Dana just said? It couldn’t be. Those had been Buffy’s words, said on Angel’s rooftop years and years ago. How did this girl know them? She’d assumed Angel hadn’t met her or he would have taken Dana in himself, so what the fuck was going on here? Was she psychic? Could she read minds?

Faith mirrored the alert, but comfortable posture of the other girl now silently staring her down, watching her more cautiously now than ever. She knew she should say something. Maybe even attack. Anything was better than waiting for the next step or for this psycho kid to shank her with one of her own knives, but prison had taught Faith patience and she had taught herself that there were things more important in this world than appeasing her own anger. The predator inside of Faith was pissed because it recognized what Dana was doing—that through some weird psychic link—she was using Faith’s most painful memories so she could toy with the older slayer like she was a ragdoll and relishing in every minute of it. But Faith didn’t take the bait. She couldn’t afford to lose it. Not today.

“You tried to gut me, Bondie,” Dana spouted again, her eyes never leaving Faith’s.

“That was a long time ago,” Faith responded, recognizing her own words. “I’m a different person now and so is Buffy. You can be too. Strong, not weak, like me.”

Faith took a tentative step forward and Dana took another back along the wall in response.

“I can help you, if you let me.” Faith tried again, calmly taking another step, almost within striking distance now.

“…No such animal, no such animal,” Dana growled over and over as her body tensed up at Faith’s closeness. “No escaping…head and heart, stab the heart and cut off the head. Only way to be sure…”

Dana moved farther away, a vulnerable look taking over her features as the savageness melted away and all she appeared to be was an overgrown little girl, regarding Faith strangely with a mix of sadness and—finally—fear.

What the hell?? Faith wondered.

The change in Dana was so quick and so complete that Faith thought that she might be seeing things. Maybe her not wanting to harm this girl was making her see Dana as harmless so she couldn’t harm her or some other strange mind shit. Whether or not Dana’s new demeanor was genuine, Faith knew two things. First, she couldn’t kill Dana this way, not even if she had wanted to and, second, she was definitely looking at this kid’s human side now. The slayer—the predator that had been protecting Dana from the horror of her nightmares—had retreated temporarily for some reason. Maybe it was tired of being on the surface all of the time. Maybe it recognized Faith as kindred and therefore not much of a threat at the moment. Whatever the reason, Faith knew that this docile Dana wouldn’t be sticking around long and she had to take advantage of this opportunity while it lasted before the crazy bitch came back and made everything harder.

“Dana,” Faith called softly, evenly. “I’m Faith and I’m a slayer like you. I’m here to help. I can get you some better fitting clothes, maybe a hot meal, and a place to sleep. All you gotta do is listen to what I have to say. Can you do that for me, Dana?”

“…You had it coming…” Dana murmured, looking down at the cement floor pitifully. “I remember what you did to me, Faith. The broken glass, the shallow cuts so I would remain conscious. You haven’t changed, you can’t. You’re sick! A rabid dog!”

Suddenly, Dana lunged forward, grabbing Faith by the shoulders and throwing her into a stack of nearby packing crates. The older slayer fell through the dusty wood like a knife through butter. Faith had expected Dana to be strong like all slayers were, but most baby slayers couldn’t throw her across a room and not be out of breath at the effort. She wasn’t even sure Buffy was capable of that one and yet this girl had thrown her like a shovelful of snow.

Faith flipped off from her back into a crouch and stood. Dana was smiling at her now, the careless, mirthless, hateful smile of the returning predator gearing for a fight. A fight for dominance. A fight for survival. A fight to the death.

“No wonder you died…” Dana quoted in a scarily out of place Jamaican accent Faith didn’t recognize. “I could wipe the floor with you right now.”

Dana lunged for Faith again, but this time Faith was ready. She ducked and caught the advancing girl with her shoulder beneath her ribcage. Then Faith took advantage of Dana’s sudden loss of balance and wrapped her arms around her legs, using the other girl’s momentum and weight to drop her to the floor. The baby slayer obviously didn’t see that move coming because she yelped in pain, but quickly recovered, rolling a couple of feet away from Faith and copying what Faith had done before by flipping from her back to her feet as if she’d done it a hundred times.

“Not bad,” Faith said, “but it’s going to take a lot more to take me down if that’s what you’re aiming for. I could save you a lot of trouble, kid, if you’d just listen to me. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

Dana raced forward again and swung at Faith, the first blow being blocked expertly by Faith’s forearm, but the second one got lucky and landed on Faith’s temple. Shit! She hits like, B, Faith grimaced, whirling around to block another attack and delivering a rough kick to Dana’s unguarded abdomen. Faith hadn’t held anything back and a vicious blow like that should’ve brought the baby slayer to her knees, but Dana didn’t so much as grunt. Instead, Dana straightened up and delivered a round house kick to Faith’s neck. Faith caught her opponent’s leg and twisted her torso, slamming her elbow squarely into Dana’s jaw.

That got the Dana’s attention.

She spit blood out of the side of her mouth and let out a loud primal scream, throwing herself at Faith again and again. Faith had to say it for this kid, not only was she strong, but she could definitely take a beating. Every blow Faith dealt, Dana absorbed and dealt back twofold. It wasn’t like fighting another baby slayer—they were usually clumsy and overconfident and it wasn’t like fighting someone as graceful and by-the-book as Buffy, but a whole other animal entirely. Dana’s slayer rode too close to the surface for her to fight in any sort of civilized, orderly manner. Every punch or kick she threw was thrown from gut instinct. There was no trained thought, just the will to live and kill. Luckily for Faith, it seemed like Dana hadn’t ever fought anyone like her before because she was tiring quickly. Her attacks were becoming more frequent, but more sloppy and easier to dodge.

Finally, Dana backed up, gasping for breath and tried to flip over Faith to get to the stairs, but Faith jumped up and caught her in a headlock in midair. They landed on the concrete floor in a tangled heap of struggling limbs. Dana seemed to be losing steam and it appeared that Faith might actually be able to get to her—if only because she was too exhausted to do anything other than listen—but just when Faith thought she was done, Dana grasped a broken piece of wood from one of the crates and slammed it desperately into the back of Faith’s skull. The older slayer’s grip immediately loosened around her neck as Dana pushed her back onto the floor—hard. She had half expected Dana to run once she was free, but the girl just stood above her going in and out of focus as Faith’s vision faded to black.


End file.
